Like A Fairytale
by moonlitwanderer
Summary: "I will care for this girl, Morgana, daughter of Gorlois, like she is my own daughter and she will want for nothing." Young Morgana misses her father dearly and, remembering the tales she used to be told, she dreams for someone who might whisk her away to somewhere she will be happy.


**A/N: SO I'm not quite sure whether to expand on this and do more of Camelot's youth or just to leave it as a one shot. Hmmm. Maybe you could leave some kind of message saying whether you want it to carry on? Anyway, I hope you like this it's been brewing since summer. Enjoy :)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin!**

* * *

"My name is Prince Arthur and I am the king's son," the boy announced in a monotone. It all seemed rather rehearsed but after such a long journey, all the young girl wanted was a bit of sleep. However, the boy continued: "If you should ever want anything you may ask a servant or..." Arthur glared up at his father who nodded encouragingly. "Come to me." The girl made a mental note to take advantage of the high position she had been granted over the pompous prince.

All of the upward-turned eyes of the expectant crowd glinted in the sunshine as the waited for their king's speech.

"I will care for this girl, Morgana, daughter of Gorlois, like she is my own daughter and she will want for nothing." The king's voice boomed around the courtyard as a round of applause and cheers erupted from the crowd below the balcony upon which the formal ceremony was taking place. Morgana managed a weak smile but it was awfully hot in the sun's glare. "From this day forth," the king continued. "She will be accepted into the royal household and treated with the upmost respect. If anyone wishes to breach this law then the consequences will be severe," Uther added threateningly, his grey eyes draining of what little warmth they had. Morgana's wide green eyes stared up at the man who towered above her. She wasn't sure what to think of him: he was kind enough to accept her into his family yet he would hurt anyone who disrespected her. She wouldn't mind if anyone disrespected her and would fully understand if they did – jealousy was only natural.

Morgana glanced out of the corner of her eye at the young Prince Arthur and deduced from his height that he must have been eight or nine whilst she was ten. After a long deliberation whilst Uther was giving a drawn out speech about how much he respected her father, despite her previous attraction to him, Morgana decided that she disliked Arthur very much, despite knowing him for less than five minutes. She despised the way his nose wrinkled and his lips pouted; the way he always acted like a royal prat. Most of all he hated his icy blue eyes that flashed along the crowd as he watched his suspects, silently judging them. She knew that although he was polite earlier it was all an obviously practised lie to make her feel welcome in Camelot.

The crowd cheered joyfully at the mention of festivities to celebrate Morgana's welcoming. This signalled the end of the ceremony and the start of Morgana's new life as the king's ward. Servants wearing dull-coloured clothes showed her to her chambers and some others brought her belongings and placed them neatly around the room.

"Is there anything else you need my lady?"

"I'm Elsa; just call me if you need me."

"Do you need help getting changed into more suitable attire?"

"Is your bed in the right place?"

"Is your gown for tonight to your taste?"

After an hour of fussing, Morgana was finally left alone. The more the silence swallowed her, the more she thought about her father and how much she missed him already. Slowly, hot tears rolled down her face as she realised the vastness and loneliness of her new life; all of those people only helped her because it was their job and there would be consequences if they didn't. None of them cared. All the little girl wished for was to be back in her father's warm arms, feeling his heart pump rhythmically against her ear and smelling his familiar scent.

Morgana walked over to her wardrobe an, hanging on the inside of the door, was her father's hunting jacket. It was like a ghost. She slung it over her shoulders and breathed in the comforting smell that the coat carried. Wishing not to spend another minute stuck inside, Morgana decided to take a ride into the woods where she felt most at home.

The long-maned horse that she chose faithfully didn't make a sound as Morgana hoisted herself up onto the saddle and kicked its' sides, spurring it to gallop across the courtyard, through the lower town and out into the dark, gloomy woods and the long-awaited fresh air. No-one spared her a glance or took notice as she raced past, fleeing from the fake niceties of Camelot which, it time, would have to replace her old home.

The smell of rain from the previous night hit her before anything else and she breathed deeply, savouring the fresh scent. After riding for a quarter of an hour, Morgana dismounted the beautiful horse and stroked its nose for a while, not just for the horses' comfort. Finally, she sat down on a damp log and the tears cascaded down her face, joining the cold raindrops that already sat there. Suddenly, the rain poured more heavily and Morgana held the coat over her head, creating a warm, safe sanctuary, her father protecting her even now.

After a while, Morgana heard the sound of hooves and glanced up to check that her horse hadn't become bored and ran away. But the noise was thudding towards her; someone was after her.

Running deeper into the woods, Morgana didn't turn around until she was absolutely certain that there was no-one behind her and that the wet leaves had stopped rustling. She couldn't help but think that it was like one of those horror stories that her father used to tell her after her mother had gone to bed.

* * *

"Once upon a time there was a little girl who ran and ran from her evil step-father who had treated her awfully all of her life. She'd finally escaped but unfortunately she'd got lost in the deep, dark woods with no way of finding her way out. The wolves were howling at the full moon..." Morgana giggled as her father threw his head back and imitated a wolf perfectly. "She heard a terrible screeching noise erupt out of the eerie silence..." This was the moment of audience participation, the moment when the small girl sitting on her father's knee opened her tiny mouth and screamed at the top of her lungs, terrifying herself even more.

"Then someone - or something – rustled in the bushes behind the little girl and she whipped around, but there was nothing there." Morgana whimpered and immediately became paranoid, as all young children do at scary stories; that the someone - or something - from the story had materialised in the dimly lit room. "The scuffling noise drew closer and suddenly..." Morgana leaned into her father, wanting to hear every whispered word of this horrifyingly delightful story as the fictional tension gathered. "BOOM!" The child's piercing scream could be heard ringing around the east wing, while the father and daughter were in the west. Along with that a low, hearty laugh echoed, creating a symphony of horror and joy. "And that's all for now, poppet. Helga will take you to your room as I douse this fore and I'll be up in a minute to tuck you in."

Morgana flinched when she saw the stooped figure of her nursemaid forming in the inky black corner of the flickering room. "Come on, my deary." Helga had always unnerved Morgana after a terrifying ordeal (in Morgana's point of view); the lovely old lady had transformed into an evil, ugly hag who had wanted nothing more than to devour the little girl: skin and bones and all. For this reason, Morgana kept tight hold of her father's sleeve and whimpered softly into his padded stomach, large eyes pleading up at him, willing him not to send her to certain death.

Her amused father seemed to understand her desperate situation and, make believe or not, he played along. After dismissing Helga for the night, he let Morgana stay until he'd finished the job and carried her up one of the many flights of winding staircases of the castle to her bedroom where he placed her gently on her silken bed and tucked her in so she was cosy. Morgana yawned and plonked her head down on the pillow, eyes tightly shut in determination for sleep.

"You don't want to hear about what happened to the poor little girl in the woods?" Gorlois asked. Morgana had forgotten all about the story and was suddenly paranoid and scared again, shooting bolt upright in bed.

"I do. But I don't. What was that bang in the woods?" she asked oh-so-innocently, her curious green eyes gazing into her father's brown ones, searching for answers.

"Well..." he sighed. He knew the real ending would frighten his little daughter so much that she would never settle down to sleep. So he made up a new ending.

"A unicorn leapt through the bushes behind her, upon which rode a handsome prince. The unicorn's mane sparkled like silver and the trees in the clearing were no longer dark and foreboding as they shone in the starlight. Quite suddenly, the prince jumped off his trusty steed with surprising accuracy and gathered the girl in his arms, his muscles rippling like a mountain stream, and carried her back to his very own castle safe and sound and they lived happily ever after, the end. How's that?"

Morgana was less than impressed but it seemed to do the job of not scaring her. Her father kissed her lovingly on the forehead and she giggled as his stubble tickled her.

"Goodnight, Father," she whispered.

"Sleep well, poppet," he replied before blowing out the candles and closing the door behind him.

* * *

Morgana smiled as she remembered that night and the way her father's eyes sparkled in the glow of the fire. She missed him terribly and, even worse, she would never see him again. She knew what was supposed to happen next in the story: the rustling started again. And sure enough, true to the word, the leaves began to rustle behind her and a twig snapped under someone - or something's - weight.

Morgana spun around, expecting a handsome prince riding valiantly atop a stunning unicorn like her father's story. Maybe the fairytale gave her unrealistic expectations: Arthur was not in the slightest handsome and was not riding on a sparkling unicorn, but it was a prince on a four-legged mammal and that would have to do for Morgana.

"You're going to miss the festivities," Arthur stated obviously, unaware that he had just terrified the poor girl out of her wits.

"I don't feel like it," Morgana replied, a quiver in her voice which made Arthur question what exactly she was doing here (due to lack of wits, he hadn't posed this question before.)

"Are you alright? You seem a bit sad..." When he jumped off his horse he had to regain his balance momentarily as he was still an amateur at most things. He gestured to a moss-covered log for them both to sit on. Morgana sat tenderly on it whereas Arthur plonked himself down and Morgana could feel the log shift and creak beneath both their weights. Immediately she could take it no more and buried her face in her hands, tears cascading freely down her face. Arthur let his arm snake around her shoulders to comfort her, letting her know that she was fine, she was safe now. He didn't press her and merely sat there letting her weep into his right shoulder. The forest was so peaceful; the only sounds were the gentle pattering of raindrops on leaves coupled with the delicious harmony of birdsong and even Morgana's sobbing ebbed away. The two of them sat there for what seemed like forever, breathing in perfect synchrony with each other and the nature around them.

When Arthur could no longer resist the temptation to sneeze, Morgana giggled softly and laid her head back on his - surprisingly muscular - shoulder. He rubbed her back gently, unsure if it was the right thing to do or if it was even a normal thing to do, but nevertheless he carried on. Through the trees, they could just about make out the blending colours of the beautiful sunset bleeding into one another, each stroke of sunlight adding to the breath-taking canvas of the evening sky, nature being the artist. It was like something from a fairytale.

If only the two of them could stay like that forever. If only we could predict no changes in the weather. If only the world could just stop and they be forever young. If only the world worked like that.


End file.
